


Untitled

by mahoni



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, Stargate Atlantis, Young Veins
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Crossover/Fusion, Gen, Humor, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bandom/Stargate Atlantis fusion w/ Bob and Brian and FOB and PATD; in which Aliens Make Bob Grumpy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Bob readjusted his P-90 so he could cross his arms and give Brian a stony look.

"I'm not doing it," he said.

Brian had an arm propped on his own P-90, slung across his chest, and stood slouched against the tree. He looked very casual and unconcerned, though he barely spared Bob an unimpressed glance before going back to keeping an eye on the crowd of locals gathered at the edge of the clearing.

Bob glanced over his shoulder at them, too. There was a bit of awkward fidgeting going on, but he really didn't think they looked ready to attack or anything. They were just simple farmer types, with little more than pitchforks to protect them.

Well, they did also have several compact, hand-held weapons that, if their effect on Dr. Walker was anything to go by, were apparently the Ancient equivalent of long-distance tasers.

But that didn't mean they were actually dangerous. Or definitely going to attack if Bob refused to go through with their stupid ritual.

Dammit.

"It's not my _fault_," Bob hissed at Brian. "All I did was open a goddamned door."

"Um." Dr. Urie, crouched beside Dr. Walker making sure he didn't fall over from twitching too much, raised his hand tentatively. "But...that's why you do have to do it. Because. You...opened the door?"

He trailed off weakly under Bob's glare.

"Suck it up, Bryar," Brian said. He straightened, sighing the way he did when he was feeling the burden of being an Air Force Major. According to Brian he felt that burden the most heavily when Bob was being stubborn about something and Brian was trying to decide whether or not to shoot him. Tilting his head toward the waiting locals, he added, "Besides, they've got to be the most harmless people we've met so far. I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think."

The unspoken statement, "And do you really think I'd make you do something I thought was dangerous or unecessary, asshole?" came through loud and clear. Bob set his jaw.

"I. Am. Not. Doing it," he ground out.

*

At least they let him keep his pants.

And let the Shaman keep his pants too, which was a relief because the guy was mortified just to have his _hat_ taken away from him. Bob was pretty sure if they'd made him spend the night in the derelict Ancient outpost with Bob completely naked the Shaman would have died of embarrassment. Then Bob would have been blamed for it and things would have gotten ugly. Uglier.

Although Bob didn't know how much uglier things could get than himself shirtless, bootless and sockless, with his pants rolled up to his knees and just about every inch of bare skin covered in painted curlicues and flowers.

_Flowers_. Christ.

There was a soft click off to Bob's left. He couldn't look in that direction or move his mouth, because the local boy was currently painting something -- Bob didn't even want to know what -- on Bob's cheek, but Bob said, through gritted teeth and without moving his lips much, "Walker, if you don't put that camera away I will shove it down your goddamned throat."

The boy painting him froze briefly, raising an eyebrow doubtfully at Bob. Bob tried not to be offended. It was probably just luck that the kid knew Bob was full of shit.

Or else Bob just looked so fucking ridiculous at the moment that he couldn't even intimidate a scrawny little dude with big eyes and hand-sown ruffles and frills all over his shirt.

At least the Shaman looked startled. Sitting cross-legged across from Bob as another local painted him --

(he was covered in spiky abstract shapes, stripes and tiny dots, and things like Ancient letters with eyeballs on them. Bob felt that was not entirely fair, because the Shaman looked a lot more like the sort of guy who could pull off flowers than Bob was.

Well. Maybe not. Bob still wished he could swap his flowers for that spiky, creepy shit, though.)

\-- his eyes got wide at Bob's words and he swayed back a little.

Then the guy painting him tossed his brush aside and flashed a huge, toothy smile at Bob. Thumping the shaman on the shoulder, he said, "Patrick, you guys are definitely going to get along great. He likes to threaten to kill people, too!"

Shaman Patrick went from wide-eyed to a glare of death in a blink, and he returned the friendly shoulder-thump with a punch to the guy's arm that knocked him over.

"Shut up, Pete," he snapped under his breath.

The kid defiling Bob's skin with pretty doodles sat back and ran his eyes up and down Bob critically.

"I think I'm done," he said.

"No, wait, Ryan," Pete said, rolling up to crouch behind Ryan. He pointed at Bob's neck. "You missed a spot."

Ryan ducked his head sideways to look, and then smiled. "Oh, perfect. I was wanting to put a pink fitter-bird somewhere."

While Bob tried to fry Pete's brain with a glower, Ryan grabbed a couple pots of paint and started mixing a startling shade of bright pink.

"You should make it pinker," Pete said, chin on Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan nodded. Bob wondered if he was more or less likely to make it off the damn planet undamaged if he strangled a couple of the locals.

Fingertips under Bob's chin directed him to tilt his head back. Before he did as directed, a grumbly sigh made him glance at Shaman Patrick. Shooting Bob an aggrieved, possibly sympathetic grimace, he punched Pete in the arm again.

Bob mulled that as he stared skyward and tried not to shiver as the narrow brush flicked across his skin, all wet and cold. The Shaman seemed like a moody guy. Twitchy, maybe a little irritable, prone to hitting.

Bob could respect that. Maybe having a forced slumber party with the guy wouldn't be too horrible. Maybe he could ask the guy to knock him out if it got too miserable.

Someone dropped to sit beside him with a heavy sigh.

"I'm so jealous," Dr. Urie said. "I wish I could go with you guys. I mean, getting to explore the outpost would be awesome, but we could have fun, too."

Urie sighed again and leaned against Bob, carefully so as not to mess up the painted designs, and patted Bob's knee in a sympathetic, companionable way.

Bob had a sudden vision of spending the night locked in a dump with Urie. Urie liked to kill time on boring missions playing Truth or Dare and singing showtunes and songs from Disney movies. And since this was an all night thing and they wouldn't be wearing anything but pants and body paint, they would probably be chilly and Urie would insist on _cuddling_.

Bob's brain recoiled.

Brian came up behind him and stood over him, blocking out most of the sky. Bob could tell he was trying not to smile.

"The floral thing is a good look on you, Bob," Brian said. "Maybe I could put in a request for a special uniform for you. Something in pastels, with frolicking bunnies embroidered on it?"

And then Walker was there with his damn camera, taking a picture of Bob's upturned face.

"I hate you all," Bob said.

*


End file.
